


life’s too short to hesitate; take your chances

by unchartedandunknown



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fake/Pretend Relationship, I am once again apologizing for my creations, Inspired by To All The Boys I've Loved Before, M/M, no angst just chicken tendies :)), one kiss is done without consent :( always ask for consent first!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22915708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unchartedandunknown/pseuds/unchartedandunknown
Summary: Byleth has always had difficulty putting words to feelings, and has tried to learn how to write them down in order to compose the jumble in his head. This is all well and good, until the day it isn’t.(Featuring: Local Bi Disaster Byleth, Linhardt “You’re stupid. I like that in a man” von Hevring and the holder of the brain cell throughout, Sothis.)
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/My Unit | Byleth, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 102
Collections: byhardt





	life’s too short to hesitate; take your chances

**Author's Note:**

> This oneshot takes place in Japan bc that’s just my default setting. But even tho this takes place in Japan I avoided using suffixes (-san, -chan, -sensei, etc) bc those hurt my head to keep track of, and everyone’s still on first-name basis bc I forgot!

The closest Byleth has been to any romantic relationship is probably right now, peering down the window with a broom in hand, witness to a subdued high schooler’s confession in the shadows of their school. The boy’s shoulders are drawn up, tense; meanwhile, the girl only looks on with guilt and humility. The words whispered between them are the precious moments of youth, caught in snatches and murmurs, the bittersweet notes not quite making it to the second story window he resides.

“Byleth! Are you done yet?”

Sothis slides open the door to the classroom with a snap and looks at him expectantly. He observes the rest of the room in its cleanliness, lessons erased from boards and desks rearranged to their former orderliness, and makes to close the window with an air of finality. He goes for the broom closet.

Sothis just huffs at his actions and leaves him hanging, impatient to return home. He can’t say he doesn’t understand her sentiments, and decides not to tell her about the confession he happened upon today and the rejection that followed.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Byleth is not the best at conveying his emotions. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel them - he’s just not good at showing them.

His father had sat him down with pen and paper and taught him how to write, but it was Sothis who said sardonically, when Byleth was frustrated over something - he can’t remember what it was anymore, because when you’re little it’s easy to get upset over the smallest of things that seem like the most important problem in the world - “Why don’t you write out your feelings if you can’t concentrate then?” and returned to her colouring books. She wasn’t being serious, but Byleth decided to follow her advice anyway.

Or, at least, he tried. The words dredged up and muddle themselves in his mind, and all that came out was either a word vomit or an empty void. Byleth didn’t think he was made for words, and thought no more of it.

But then he met her: his first playground crush. She was making carefully constructed sandcastles with a delicate hand with her little brother, and he was struck head over heels for the full hour he spent with her, and every moment after that when he discovered she and her brother went to the same elementary school as him and he caught glimpses of them during recess or in the halls. She had the brightest of smiles and was always kind, and Byleth trailed after her with an innocent puppy love.

But she was two years older and Byleth hadn’t even begun to understand the concept of _dating_ and _romance_ , so when she had to leave once she entered middle school to study abroad he did not give chase.

Byleth’s first and last playground crush ended with a girl named Mercedes. The night of her departure, he tried to summon the words for this feeling once again, like the ending of a song soft and muted, but it came out stilted and staccato.

He kept the letter he wrote to her anyways, signed with her old address where her family still resides.

Things took a turn once he reached middle school; no more playground crushes because he didn’t play at the playground anymore - most of his time was devoted to the violin and music.

Byleth’s world was flipped upside down and rattled from the inside out with the arrival of a boy moving into the prefecture. This didn’t happen at first mention, of course, but in first meeting.

His Japanese was already perfect - Byleth heard the teachers whispering about how the new student had a brilliant mind and he brushed it off, thinking that he would never cross paths with this student. He didn’t have the time, anyways.

He was proven wrong when he came across him the next day in the library; they were the only students inside on that day, but it was like the boy brought the sun and warmth wherever he went.

“Hello,” he said, and Byleth’s world went to shit for a few months after that with that word alone. Would he describe it as a _de_ scent or an _a_ scent? Whatever it was, Byleth could only think that it was a rollercoaster ride he wanted to be ejected out of, preferably to be launched into the sun to burn.

Claude left Byleth a scattered mess with his boyish charm and scheming he sometimes got pulled into (willingly, always willingly). His heart stuttered whenever he laughed or got too close. The one time their hands brushed Byleth pulled himself away and ran from his confusing feelings.

He didn’t understand if there was something wrong with him and it showed in what he wrote down that night, incoherent babbling spat onto paper.

After that he avoided Claude, and eventually the feelings went away too.

His third crush didn’t start out as a crush. When they first met it was in a violin competition, and Byleth didn’t learn her name until after he had seen her perform; she commanded the concert hall with her presence and music, left the crowd stunned silent when she was done. Not only was Byleth shot in the heart, he wanted to rise to be her equal, to play better than her. It was this odd tangle of ‘I want to win’ and ‘I want to hold her hand, maybe’ and when she sent a smirk his way when she ended up winning the competition it just left Byleth with more questions than answers as her name was announced: _Edelgard von Hresvelg_.

They continued to see each other during concerts and recitals, and even ended up in the same high school, but it never got any further than that; they lived in two different universes, and school and music was the only time where those universes collided in the middle, so the feelings Byleth developed faded, even if that spark still remained every time he found her gaze out in a crowd or across the hall.

He wrote something for her, a failed attempt at describing the pale lavender of her eyes and the challenge she posed in them every time they crossed paths, and that way another letter was added to the pile.

Byleth’s crush was his most passive one, only because it was spent mostly observing the boy who happened to be in his class that year.

By that point, Byleth had figured out how he felt - when he came across the word _bisexual_ on the internet, he felt a calm sense of relief at the fact that there were others who felt the same as him, held the same questions and realizations - but wasn’t quite ready to do anything about it, so he only stared on mutely.

He never exchanged more than a word with the boy at most at the beginning of the school year, but his attention lingered in times of boredom in class, wondering about the boy who spent class sleeping or clearly not paying attention, nose in a book.

By the start of their second year in high school, Byleth was no longer in the same class as him, so he wrote a farewell letter to Linhardt, a goodbye without a hello.

Byleth’s last crush was a nightmare and he doesn’t like to think about it often. Mostly because it embarrasses him as much as liking Edelgard did.

He went to one school volleyball practice match with Sothis. One match. _One._

And he spent most of it ogling Dimitri’s arms. Even then, he is giving himself some credit when he says ‘most,’ because it was definitely ‘the whole time.’ Byleth couldn’t even tell which team had won the match by the end of it.

It’s just the most expected thing. Who wouldn’t fall for Dimitri, captain of the volleyball team, the sweet boy with a killing serve and killer looks?

Byleth was totally enamoured after that. He was a hopeless case, and he knew it, because there was no way Dimitri would like him back, or even knew he existed, and he probably didn’t even like boys (and in this case, the ‘probably’ was more likely to be ‘definitely.’)

So Byleth wrote another love letter. Because at this point he had realized that’s what he had been writing this whole time - love letters. No matter how stupid the feelings may seem, they’re his and he was determined to keep them tucked away in a box to never see the light of day because the contents are, frankly, embarrassing and badly worded.

Dimitri’s probably received love letters from plenty of other people, he told himself as he wrote in a flustered manner. All soft, perfect words that compare him to flowers or moonlight orーsomething.

Byleth doesn’t have that talent, nor has he ever read a love letter before that wasn’t his, because he’s never received one.

He keeps the letters in a shoe box under his bed to never be read, a way to vent out his feelings whenever it begins to take away from his practice on the violin, and doesn’t worry about them any further than that.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Have you seen my shirt?”

“Which one?”

“The crop top, with theー” Sothis gestures at her arms. “Frills.” When Byleth says nothing, she adds, “It’s pink.”

Byleth can recall the article of clothing, but he draws a blank at the last time he saw it.

“Maybe it’s still in the laundry basket.”

“I already checked there.”

He shrugs and returns to his homework; it’s not his fault if his sister’s losing stuff. He hears Sothis huff and mutter something about how useless he is before she continues stomping around in his room and making a mess of things. Byleth ignores her, because she does this too often. His eyes stay on his textbook as she rummages around behind him.

“You’re not going to find your shirt in my room.” Why would her clothes be in his room? For one thing, they definitely won’t fit him, not unless they were her socks, maybe.

“Whatever,” Sothis grumbles; Byleth hears his door shut as Sothis stomps around again.

He continues on with his homework, and that is his first mistake.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Monday starts awful, as all Mondays are prone to be. Byleth rolls out of bed, knocks over his alarm clock, emerges from his room and spends a minute knocking on the bathroom door until Sothis finally throws the door open and hisses at him. Neither of them are made for mornings.

They go through the motions - eat breakfast their father has made for them (still lukewarm since his departure), bumble through the process of changing into their uniforms and elbowing their way into the one mirror in front of the sink in the washroom to brush their teeth (Sothis only wins every time because Byleth lets her and that’s what he continues to tell himself everyday as he receives an elbow to the side), and race on their bikes to school, careful of icy roads and half-asleep drivers behind the wheel as they go.

School is a slog; Byleth stares at the back of students’ heads and uncomprehendingly at the board and nods like he’s paying attention to anything and watches another student’s head droop for the fifth time today. Mondays.

At lunch he goes to one of the empty, unused classrooms because he likes the quiet and the organized chaos of desks and chairs all cornered into one place in the classroom to make space for whatever this classroom is normally used for - he thinks the drama club uses it for small rehearsals, but he usually uses it for practice in the afternoons.

Jeritza doesn’t greet him when he knocks and slides the door open, not because he’s impolite, he just doesn’t talk much - which makes him seem impolite, but Byleth understands that silence. They’re alike in that way.

Still, it’s odd for Jeritza to meet him like this, only because they’re as distant as acquaintances. However close they were as children doesn’t dictate their relationship as they grew outside of that small playground.

“Mercedes is still studying in England,” Jeritza says without preamble. “But if you would like, we could send the letter to her.” He looks like he would rather eat his own hair than do that, though.

“What letter?” Byleth asks, and then his eyes fall on the yellow envelope in his hands. Not a faded yellow like it’s aged with time in sunlight, but distinctly butterscotch.

Byleth rips the letter out of Jeritza’s hands, mouth dry. “Where did you get this?” he rasps, eyes moving quickly over the disjointed writing of an eight-year-old addressing it to Mercedes, feels the unopened seal over it, the smallest relief in this hiccup of the usual Monday.

“It was in our post this morning.”

“I didn’t send this letter.”

Jeritza’s brows crease. “It was in our post, so if it wasn’t you then it was someone else.”

_But who else wouldー_

That weekend, Sothis had spent less than a minute in his room.

A minute is a lot for a gremlin.

“I’m going to kill her.”

Jeritza frowns at this declaration. “My sister?”

“Whatーno, _my_ sister.” And he doesn’t say anything after that, because he’s on a warpath for a certain sibling with a penchant for sticking her nose into Byleth’s business when he absolutely _did not ask._

He doesn’t even make it ten steps to her classroom before he’s cornered by three different people. All three of them holding an envelope, and this quickly spirals into the new nightmare scenario that Byleth wants to be out of _right now, please._

“Byleth, I think we need to talk.” Edelgard is adorable when embarrassed. Byleth has never seen her this red in the face, not making eye contact, and if this were any other situation he might even enjoy it but as he is now he has the fiercest need to sink into the ground and let it claim him, because she’s got a distinctly rose-red envelope in her hand that’s been unsealed which means _she saw it. She read it. She knows his feelings._

And she’s looking at him with pity and regret which means he’s going to be rejected, isn’t he? Right here. In Garreg Mach’s halls. In front of two other people he also liked. Plus a few students.

His next action has no thought or planning put into it, just a drive to doーsomething. He turns to the closest person, tugs them forward, and plants one on them.

It is quite possibly the worst first kiss of all time, if not worst kiss in general, because not only does the other person not reciprocate, Byleth’s never kissed another person in his pathetic little life and he was a bit too forceful so their lips don’t so much as meet than crash together like bumper cars in an amusement park. It’s sloppy and stiff, and awkwardly long enough for Byleth to feel even more mortified than he did before this.

And then he pulls away to find that the nearest person was _Linhardt_.

“Uhhh,” Dimitri says eloquently, letter held loosely in his hand, voice cracking audibly midway through.

Byleth just kissed _Linhardt._ In front of his two past crushes and students who were passing by in the hall.

He needs to go. Stat.

Byleth books it out of there before anyone can stop him.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


It’s cold outside, which is perfect because that means there’s no one there to witness Byleth’s painful breakdown. Unfortunately, that means there’s no stopping his panicking.

And even more unfortunate, Sothis has found him.

“Oh, quit being a baby,” is the first thing she says when she sees him. “It can’t be that bad.”

“I kissed Linhardt.”

“Oh.”

“Without his permission. In the hallway. Surrounded by people. And Edelgard and Dimitri were there.” Byleth peeks up to see Sothis rolling her eyes and crouching down beside him. “How did you find me?”

“Easy. I followed the sound of misery.”

“This is your fault.”

“How is this my fault? You wrote the letters.”

“I didn’t even write an address for most of them. They weren’t supposed to read them.” Byleth groans and buries his head back into his knees. “I’m going to kill you.”

Sothis snorts. “You can certainly try.”

“There, there,” a new voice says, and a hand begins petting his head. “He’s certainly taking this worse than I thought he would.”

Byleth wants to scream, but instead he settles for glaring at Sothis and grumbling, “Why is Flayn here?”

“I thought you needed emotional support.”

“So you brought Flayn?”

“No, she just came along because she was curious.” Sothis flashes her phone screen to show an unanswered text. “Your emotional support isn’t here yet.”

“I suppose a bit of this situation has me to blame,” Flayn says. “I wasn’t expecting Sothis would use the students’ addresses for this purpose.”

“ _You’re_ the one who gave her the addresses?”

“I thought it would be fun to break into my father’s study,” she says innocently, referring to the vice principal of the school.

Everyone in this universe is designed to torture Byleth today. Flayn continues petting Byleth’s hair in an attempt to be soothing and Sothis continues on her Sothis ways, until footsteps approach hurriedly and someone says, “I hope I’m not late, sorryーoh. What’s wrong?”

“He’s being overdramatic,” Sothis replies.

“I am not,” Byleth says mulishly, but all that melts away when he sees Ashe looking at him worriedly over a pile of blankets and snacks, the boy with the designated emotional support position.

Correction: everyone but Ashe is out to ruin Byleth’s life today.

Flayn brightens at the sight of food. “Oh, I want the shrimp-flavoured ones!”

Ashe humours her and hands out the snacks. “So, what happened?” he asks.

Byleth snags a blanket and a bag of chips as he hollowly describes the most recent events that transpired, from Jeritza’s jarring appearance with his letter to Mercedes to getting stopped in the halls to kissing Linhardt - oh God, he really did _that,_ he’s never been so mortified in his life - to running to hide outside next to a vending machine.

Sothis summarizes this by saying, “You fucked up.”

“More like ‘I’m fucked’,” Byleth says.

Ashe winces. “I mean, it’s not that bad...”

“How is this not bad?”

“If you look at it, maybe you can use this situation to your advantage,” Sothis muses. “You kissed Linhardt in front of all of them, so they could be under the impression that you like him if he hasn’t said anything.”

“And how is that an advantage?”

“This way they won’t feel sorry for you and you won’t feel embarrassed. You could use Linhardt as a front so they won’t confront you about the letters. You could pretend you’re dating Linhardt.”

Byleth stares at this proposal as Flayn gasps and claps in delight. “That would be wonderful!”

“How would that be wonderful?”

“You can be wooed by Linhardt’s charms all while managing to drive away your previous affections of your other crushes.”

“I don’t...” There is. So much loaded with what she’s said. “I’m not sure if Linhardt has any charms.”

Sothis arches a brow. “Why did you write him a letter, then?”

Byleth shrugs. His feelings are as unknown to himself as they are to others. Sothis’ eye twitches at his silence.

Flayn places a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Listen, Byleth,” she says seriously in all her righteousness, breath smelling of shrimp. “Love comes and goes. When it comes, it’s important to just go for it or don’t. But either way, don’t wait.”

“What.”

“She’s referencing a Taylor Swift interview,” Sothis says tiredly, too used to Flayn to blink twice at this.

“Oh.”

“...Wasn’t that about picking food up off the ground?” Ashe says hesitantly.

Flayn pouts. “But it applies!”

“You want me to fake-date Linhardt until...what, everyone leaves me alone?”

Sothis shrugs like, _your call._ “It would be nice if he agreed, wouldn’t he?”

And to call them back to their current problems, the bell rings belatedly, signalling the end of their lunch period.

Ashe grabs the rest of the blankets. “I hope you feel better soon!” Bless him, Byleth thinks fondly as the boy takes off for class.

Flayn ruffles his hair one last time and sprays crumbs everywhere. “You’ll have to tell me how it goes,” she says, like this is a topic of conversation that will come up again or will ever willingly be brought up once more.

Byleth grabs Sothis’ sleeve before she escapes. “You’re helping me throw the trash out.”

“I’m gonna be late for class,” she whines.

“You don’t care about class. Come on.”

Sothis grumbles all the way to the trash can, but in the end she gives Byleth her bag of barbecue-flavoured chips, which Byleth considers the one bright note in the nosedive today was.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


His second mistake is asking Linhardt to participate in this farce.

After school he begins searching for Linhardt. There are plenty of clubs within the school that he could spend a whole hour looking into each room and he still wouldn’t have gone through all of them. That isn’t even counting the sports teams. How are the clubs funded, again? He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t find Linhardt in the gardening club, the art club, the drama club. There’s no sign of him in the book club - which is where he expected it to be most likely to find Linhardt, so where can he possibly be?

It’s entirely possible that he’s in the going-home club, Byleth reasons, though he hopes that isn’t the case.

He’s about to give up when he spots one last door at the end of the hall. It looks more like it leads to the janitor’s closet than anything else, but he might as well check, just in case.

He swings it open, and five pairs of eyes swivel to face him in pitch darkness. On the illuminated screen being projected on the board, a character is using their special move to finish off an enemy. There’s a lot of explosions and sound effects.

_“Get out,”_ a voice practically screeches.

Byleth ignores this because he’s used to being yelled at by Sothis and asks, “Is there a Linhardt in here?”

“Out you go,” a girl says, and someone stumbles forward into Byleth. The door slams shut behind them.

Linhardt frowns, but the look softens into recognition. “What are you doing looking for me?”

“I thought we needed to talk. Was that...a club meeting?”

“It was the anime club.”

“We have an anime club?” Byleth mutters, but follows Linhardt as he goes further down the hall, away from other rooms to the top of a stairwell.

“Quite a small one, but yes. I think the principal prefers to pretend they don’t exist.” Linhardt turns to face him. In this small space, their voices echo and linger. “What did you want to speak to me about?”

“I...” Byleth twists his hands into knots. “I wanted to apologize earlier for forcing myself onto you. I’m sorry about that.”

“Is that all?” Linhardt sighs. “You didn’t have to go this far to apologize, but alright. I do wish I had gotten more of a warning on that kiss, though.”

“Sorry.” Byleth twists his hands hard enough for his skin to turn white. “I wanted to ask a favour, as well.”

Haltingly, he tells Linhardt of his past mishaps - the love letters, Sothis sending them out that weekend, Jeritza and the what happened after, the plan Sothis had formed.

“You sent a letter to both Claude _and_ Dimitri?” Linhardt says, sounding strangely impressed. “You do know those two are dating, right?”

“...I knew that.”

“You don’t look like you knew that.”

Byleth clears his throat loudly and tries to wave away any rising embarrassment. “Would you like to do it? I won’t make you do this, and I’ll leave you alone. You just have to say no.”

Linhardt places his hands on his hips and heaves a tired sigh after a moment. He tips his head up to the ceiling in thought.

“There’s really no getting out of it, is there?”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t have Edelgard paying attention to you,” he explains. “I’ve spent too long listening to Bernie complain and pine from a distance and they’ve only just begun forming a friendship. No, I’ll have to do this.”

“Really?”

“As long as it’s not a hassle.”

“Oh. Good. I meanーthank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Linhardt appraises Byleth. “Really, you are.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**Claude:** so i got your letter today

**Byleth:** Oh

**Byleth:** I forgot to warn you about that. Sorry, I wrote it back in middle school

**Claude:** yeah, could tell from the date and writing

**Claude:** but man...you were really repressed as a kid, huh

**Byleth:** I don’t want to talk about it

**Claude:** all good here, buddy

**Claude:** but while i’m really flattered by what preteen you wrote for me, i’m dating dimitri rn and uhh let’s just say i’m not planning on breaking up w/ him anytime soon lol

**Claude:** you knew that i was dating dimitri, right

**Byleth:** I KNEW THAT.

**Claude:** whatever you say dude

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Everything was going fine. Deal were made, homework was complete, and there was no sign of any of his previous crushes today.

So why did Sothis drag him and Linhardt to a McDonald’s the day after their agreement was made?

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says when Byleth hasn’t even said anything. “I’m skipping my practice for this.”

“For what, exactly,” Byleth says flatly.

She glances between the two of them - Byleth, doubtful, and Linhardt, face planted into the table, seemingly asleep - and throws her hands up in the air.

“I really do have to be the backbone in this, don’t I.” She sighs and slaps a paper and pencil onto the table. “Tell me, when the two of you agreed to this farce, did you see each other at all after that?”

“We’re seeing each other right now,” Byleth points out, though Linhardt is not looking at either of them because he is truly dead to the world.

Sothis whacks Linhardt lightly upside the head and hisses, “Wake up.” He stirs weakly, lifting his head up to stare at her in a disbelieving squint.

“Did you just slap me?”

“I’ll do worse if you don’t listen to me.”

“Have some fries,” Byleth offers, and stuffs them hurriedly into her mouth before she starts spewing threats to his not-boyfriend to calm her down. “What did you want to tell us?”

“I’m saying,” she says after chewing for a few moments, “that you two haven’t acted like a couple at all, which is why I’m enforcing a rulebook.”

Linhardt wrinkles his nose. “A rulebook on how to date?”

“You’re the type of fools who need it.” Sothis taps the empty sheet. “You need to set up ground rules to sell it to everyone. Make sure everyone believes it.”

“Can’t we just tell everyone we’re dating?” Byleth asks.

“No, I think I understand what she means.” Linhardt sits up and yawns. “She’s talking about our general behaviour and hand-holding, and whatnot.”

Sothis nods. “I’m glad you at least understand.”

Byleth doesn’t, but he tugs the paper toward him when Linhardt unwraps his bagel. “What should we start with?”

And so begins BYLETH AND LINHARDT’S DATING GUIDE, titled so by Sothis. It’s filled with what should be their day-to-day interactions, from start to end.

“Linhardt’s house is closer, so you can walk him home and double back to our house,” Sothis says.

It’s not a bad plan, though it does render his afternoons a bit useless since he usually just practiced violin while waiting for Sothis to finish badminton practice and go home together. Then again, Linhardt still has his own clubs - “I’m part of the book club and the anime club, but I attend different ones depending on the day” (he did not elaborate on how he found himself in the anime club) - so maybe Byleth’s afternoons won’t be so useless after all.

“And you have to walk him to school in the morning,” she adds with a smile, because she knows this means Byleth will have to wake up and leave earlier and she’ll have the washroom to herself for once.

“Fine.”

“You have to sit with Linhardt’s group at lunch, because you’re always alone,” Sothis dictates.

Linhardt frowns. “You sit alone at lunch?”

“I like the quiet.”

“You’re not going to get that, unfortunately, but if it helps Ashe will be there.”

The thought helps a lot, actually.

“Do we need to give each other nicknames?” Linhardt muses.

Sothis pauses. “Actually, that wouldn’t be so bad. Most of his friends call him By.”

“I _could_ call him that, I suppose.”

“What am I supposed to call you?” Byleth asks.

Linhardt shrugs. “Most of my friends call me Lin, or Linny.”

Byleth hums, contemplating. “Well, the end of Linhardt sounds a little like ‘heart,’ so what if I called you...‘my heart’?”

The disgusted glances they send his way says it all.

Sothis gags. “That’s too cheesy.”

“Let’s just...drop that nickname thing for now,” Linhardt says, and Byleth agrees, though secretly he thinks it must be a good thing if it’s cheesy. Aren’t most couples ridiculously cheesy?

“Is there anything else we’re forgetting?” Sothis brandishes the list, and Byleth remembersー

“No kissing,” he blurts, and the two look at him and exchange a glance between themselves that Byleth can’t read.

“Alright, no kissing...” Sothis adds it to the bottom while Linhardt murmurs, “What a shame.”

Byleth can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Byleth has his alarm set twenty minutes early, soon to become his new normal. This allows him to be greeted by the sight of his father sipping coffee at the counter.

“You’re up early,” he notes as Byleth maneuvers around him.

Byleth hums a _hmm_ and, “Don’t wanna be late for school.”

His father surveys him as he settles at the table, clearly sensing that there’s more to this than that but knowing his son isn’t ready to divulge.

He ruffles Byleth’s hair and places a kiss on his head. “Do well in school, alright?”

Byleth hums but makes no promises. He hides a small smile behind his cup of tea, and his father only smiles before he turns to leave.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


It’s still cold, especially in the morning. Byleth checks his phone for the fifth time that, yes this is the right place and the address is correct, and shoots Linhardt a message with freezing fingers.

**Byleth:** I’m in front of your house. Should I ring the doorbell?

**Linhardt:** do NOT do that

**Linhardt:** ill come downstairs in 5 mins

**Byleth:** Ok

“You look...mad,” Byleth notes as Linhardt shuffles toward him, bundled in what has to be at least three layers.

His glare is the only part of his face Byleth can see. “What gave you that idea?” He sighs. “Sorry, it’s just. I usually don’t wake up this early.”

“Do you get a ride to school?” Byleth asks. He gets off his bike to walk beside Linhardt, bike held outside to the street.

“Usually. Not anymore, probably.”

A pang of guilt hits, then. “Sorry.”

Linhardt huffs a sigh again. “No, it’s nothing. I agreed to this, didn’t I? Hereー” He grabs Byleth’s hand with his own gloved one and shoves it into his pocket. Through the stutter of his heart at the sudden action, Byleth remembers one of their rules being hand-holding.

“Right,” he manages, and maneuvers his bike for this change in position, and that is all they say for the rest of the way, a bit awkward and trying to get used to their odd not-dating situation.

“Hopefully I’ll be able to nap before class starts,” Linhardt says when they arrive at the school gates.

“Don’t you usually sleep in class anyways?”

Linhardt laughs. “You’re right. Were you watching? Wait, your letter mentioned that, actually, I shouldn’t have to ask that.”

Byleth blames the red of his ears from the cold. “You weren’t supposed to read that.”

“If letters aren’t written to be read, why was it written at all?”

Byleth shrugs and releases Linhardt’s hand to lock up his bike. “It was a way for me to vent.”

Linhardt doesn’t reply, dropping the topic by glancing at his phone. “I’ll see you at lunch?”

“Yes.”

Byleth puts his hands in his pockets. They part once they arrive to their lockers, but the warmth in the centre of Byleth’s hand remains.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Wait, wait. You guys are fake-dating so Byleth isn’t approached by any of his past crushes and so Bernie can get Edelgard without any worries?” Caspar breaks out into laughter.

“Remind me again how you and Ashe got together,” Linhardt says, and Caspar sobers instantly.

“He didn’t know we were dating until I gave him flowers for our one-month anniversary!” Ashe says.

Byleth almost chokes on his food at that admission, but manages to keep it down with a passive expression. Linhardt doesn’t bother to hide his laughter.

“Oh, but if you guys are pretending, you’re going all out, right?” Caspar leans forward eagerly. “You’re writing love letters to each other, right?”

“Why would I write love letters,” Linhardt says.

“But it’s romantic! C’mon, Linny, he wrote you one, you should return the favour.”

Linhardt complains but Caspar continues to try and convince him, and by the end of the lunch period Linhardt’s dropping a crumpled piece of ripped paper into Byleth’s hands.

“Love letters are too long,” he explains. “I’ll write you notes, instead.”

“Okay,” Byleth says, glancing at the small paper in his hand.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_What’s your favourite type of fish?_

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The sun is a drop in the sky by the time there’s a quiet knock on the door. It slides open to reveal Linhardt peeking in.

“Club activities are over,” he says, like there is any other reason he would be here. Byleth starts packing up his violin and music sheets.

There’s less students than this morning, so Linhardt doesn’t hold his hand.

“I like sunfish,” he tells Linhardt on the way to his house.

Linhardt looks surprised. “I didn’t think you would actually have an answer.”

“Why not?”

“Most people don’t usually have an answer to their favourite fish. Maybe they could tell you their favourite kind of dog, or cat, but not fish.”

“Do you have a favourite type of fish, then?”

Linhardt grins. “Do you know about the flapjack octopus?”

“What?”

Linhardt shows him a video and Byleth gets the urge to coo along with the scientists in the video at the adorable little yellow octopus.

“It’s very cute,” he manages, and “I love him.”

“Right?” Linhardt says, and he looks genuinely happy and awake, which Byleth only notices because before this he’s never noticed the absence of how tired and lethargic Linhardt normally is.

Maybe this won’t be as awkward as Byleth thought it would be.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Their pretend relationship works, surprisingly. Neither of them are particularly well-known in the school, so it doesn’t generate any buzz, but it does pass through the gossip mill as Flayn happily reports. Byleth’s previous crushes don’t approach him about the letters, and Edelgard’s friendship with Bernadetta seems to be building steadily, from what Linhardt’s heard. All is well.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**Linhardt:** should i get you anything

**Byleth:** ?

**Linhardt:** white day

**Byleth:** Oh. Sure

**Linhardt:** ugh

**Byleth:** ?

**Linhardt:** you were supposed to say no

**Byleth:** You don’t have to get me anything. I can get you something, if you want

**Linhardt:** no, you said yes, no take backs

**Byleth:** Ok?

**Linhardt:** ok

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


White Day is on the weekend this year, but that doesn’t stop the students from giving their gratitude chocolate on Friday instead. Byleth doesn’t see why he has to do this - he and Linhardt started their fake dating after Valentine’s Day had passed, after all, and they hadn’t gifted each other anything before that - but he finds that he isn’t bothered that much.

Still, he isn’t expecting the bug-eyed look on Linhardt’s face when he drops a bag on his desk and says, “I made cookies.”

“Iー” Linhardt sputters unintelligibly for a few moments before he tries again. “Did I not say I would give you something?”

“But you sounded like you wanted something, too.”

“I didn’t sayー” Linhardt sighs and breaks off into a helpless laugh. He digs something out of his backpack and presents it to Byleth. “I’m afraid mine isn’t as sentimental, as it’s store-bought white chocolate.”

“That’s fine.” Byleth takes it. “Tell me how it tastes.”

“Okay.” When Byleth makes no move to leave the classroom, he adds, “Right now?”

“If you can.”

“Aren’t you eager for approval,” Linhardt murmurs, but he acquiesces, and pulls out a cookie to bite into. “Oh, this is good, genuinely. You really baked this?”

“I had help,” Byleth admits. If ‘help’ could be defined as ‘I stood hesitating in the corner of the kitchen while my father gave me one job to watch the fire alarm while he bakes the cookies and Sothis cackled from the table,’ then yes. He helped.

Linhardt sees right through him. “You didn’t do anything, did you?”

“...I did not. I’m terrible in the kitchen.” It’s a weakness of his he doesn’t like to admit, but seeing Linhardt shake with laughter is enough to sate him.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


With exams almost upon them, Byleth thinks it’s reasonable for a study session to take place. It’s even okay for Linhardt to invite himself over to Byleth’s house for said studying session.

But he isn’t sure how to react when, after school, Linhardt asks, “Can I just sit on the back of your bike? I don’t want to walk, it’ll tire me.”

“Alright,” Byleth says reluctantly, “but you have to hold my violin.”

“Of course.”

Byleth adjusts his messenger bag and sits on the bike. He waits for Linhardt’s added weight to settle on the bike before he sets his other foot on the pedal and begins pedalling. Midway through the process, one of Linhardt’s arms wrap around Byleth’s middle.

Linhardt’s voice is muffled through Byleth’s clothing. “This is fine, right?”

Byleth hums a yes while internally screaming because this was not in the plan today and he’s not sure if he’s capable of concentrating on biking with Linhardt so close to him. It was difficult enough whenever Linhardt leaned on him while he was sitting or standing, but this is a new level.

They somehow make it to Byleth’s house intact - and more importantly, with his violin intact.

“See?” Linhardt says smugly. “You can trust me with it.”

Byleth nods in thanks and leads him inside.

The house is empty. Sothis is still at school caught up in practice, and their father is probably still at work - the time of his arrival fluctuates, so Byleth doesn’t worry about it.

“Can we use the kotatsu?” is the first thing Linhardt asks when he sees it in the living room. Byleth resigns himself to it, though he doubts Linhardt will get any real studying done like that.

“Do you want anything to eat?” Byleth searches for potential snacks in the fridge and pantry. “We have milk bread. And chips.”

“I’ll take the milk bread.”

With that decided, Byleth brings his own bag of chips to the living room.

“Is there any specific music you usually play when you’re studying?” Byleth takes a seat on one side of the kotatsu, Linhardt on his right.

Linhardt opens the milk bread packaging. “I tend to listen to instrumental music when I’m reading, since I can’t focus on the words in songs well. What about you?”

“Guess.”

Linhardt hums, tilting his head in thought. Byleth takes the opportunity to take out his school materials and opens his math notebook.

“You play violin, so I’m going to assume you also listen to instrumental music? Concertos, solos, the like.”

“You’re not wrong, but I listen to a little bit of everything. Anything I happen to find.” Byleth pauses. “Have you ever heard a Beethoven piece on an electric guitar?”

“No,” Linhardt says, but he grins in something expectant, knowing he will be hearing it soon as Byleth pulls out his phone and they listen to Moonlight Sonata 3rd Movement performed on an electric guitar, and Byleth finds amazement blooming in Linhardt’s eyes.

The evening passes with Linhardt’s music filling the spaces between their silences and the scratching of pencil on paper. Linhardt will sometimes peer at Byleth’s work as if in boredom, and Byleth in turn will lean over to see what’s caught Linhardt’s attention. Snacks are eaten, chip bags are emptied to litter the table. Byleth, so caught in the complications of a math problem, doesn’t notice until he looks up that Linhardt is no longer sitting across from him but curled up on the hard wooden floor, lured to sleep by the warmth of the kotatsu, their legs tangled underneath in an intimate mess.

Byleth leaves him be. There is still time before Linhardt has to leave, and he knew it was inevitable for Linhardt to fall asleep.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Oh, to be a stargazer fish, lying on the bottom of the sea with no need to study, only waiting for its next potential prey to be lured into a false sense of safety._

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“I thought your notes would be romantic?”

“Byleth, do I look like I have a romantic bone in my body?”

“...Hm.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Byleth has less time to practice the violin with exam week looming. Clubs shorten their meetings and students hurry home, mind constantly on _studying_ and _grades_ and _the very end of the world_ that surely must be upon them.

Linhardt is over at his house more often than not these days. Byleth attempts to study while Linhardt usually does not. Occasionally Sothis will join their studying sessions, but she’s able to do as much work as Byleth, and the trio spend more time lazing about than accomplishing anything of importance. Byleth gets used to the listlessness of it all - Linhardt’s taste in music, the uncomfortable tangling of legs, Sothis piping up about her complaints on studying.

It should perhaps be expected that Linhardt eventually meets their father.

Byleth is in his room searching for his book for history class when he hears his father announce himself in the house. It takes him several seconds to remember Linhardt is down there before he scrambles up quietly, reading material forgotten, out his room and down the stairs. But by that time, his father has already seen Linhardt, and Byleth can only pause, uncertain, glancing between them.

They didn’t have any instructions or rules in place for their parents. Sothis had said it would be easier to just avoid them entirely if possible, which they obviously failed to do already.

“Who are you?” Jeralt asks.

Without skipping a beat, Linhardt says, “I’m dating your son,” and Byleth feels his brain shut down, power up and reboot at these words alone. From the outside, it looks like he froze midway through his approach to the two.

His father’s expression barely changes as he says, “Oh,” but not as in, _oh, really, you?_ but more like, _really? You chose him? Out of all people?_

“Hey,” Byleth says in soft protest at this veiled insult, and his father only turns and offers a half-hearted shrug.

It’s the strangest afternoon yet at Byleth’s house with his father’s natural gruff silence and Linhardt’s own quiet. Jeralt sits at the kitchen table, eventually leaving for his room, and the two carry on with their studying as if nothing has happened.

By the time Linhardt has left, Jeralt tells Byleth that the boy should stay over for dinner next time, and it is only then Byleth realizes that Linhardt hadn’t even bothered to introduce himself by name.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Exams pass in its regular gruelling fashion, slow as molasses, leaving Byleth to pick himself up in the wake of its destruction. Graduation is celebrated, the cherry blossoms are in full bloom, and classes start up again. This time, Byleth finds himself sharing a class with Sothis and Caspar.

On the way home, Linhardt regales him with the most recent events that passed in the classroom that he was awake to witness - Ingrid got into a petty squabble with someone on the lacrosse team and someone accidentally threw a chair at the teacher and _really,_ Linhardt sighs and shakes his head, can’t he have a moment of peace?

“It is our last school year,” Byleth points out. “It’ll probably be much busier than the last.”

“Don’t make me think about it.” Linhardt swings their hands a bit harder at the thought, a pendulum-swing back and forth, and Byleth peers up at him. Linhardt only looks back with a slow blink, before he blinks again, squinting at something and reaching forward.

“What?” Byleth says. Linhardt picks through his hair and returns with a cherry blossom, pinched between two fingers. “Oh.”

The two stop on the sidewalk as Linhardt cards through the rest of Byleth’s hair. Cherry blossoms litter the ground about them in a pink rain shower, and Byleth focuses on their feet and his grip on the handlebar of his bike, Linhardt moving slowly, deliberately.

“What a mess,” Linhardt chides, and Byleth agrees, though it is not necessarily about the cherry blossoms in his hair.

“Did you get all of them?”

“I think so.” Linhardt’s hands retreat, but not before a finger brushes the lobe of Byleth’s ear and makes him shiver.

Linhardt loops their hands together and tugs him forward. Byleth can only follow, feeling a little helpless.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Byleth gets used to the routine of it. He knows he shouldn’t, that this is temporary, but humans fall under habit and routine easily, and he is only human.

Linhardt’s hand is in his as often as he finds himself holding his violin and bow, his name on his lips that Byleth’s mouth moves to form it as naturally as it is to say hello, and he begins to dread their goodbyes.

Their pseudo-relationship evolves. Linhardt begins to droop over Byleth’s back, mostly to nap, and his weight is a warm blanket of affection that leaves Byleth lightheaded. Linhardt continues with the short notes, listless as they are, ranging from statements - _I almost tripped down the stairs this morning_ \- to questions - _When is your birthday, anyway?_ \- and they take up residence in Byleth’s now love letterless shoebox, for all the love letters he has never gotten before, he can string these notes together and make a series of it. Linhardt takes up most of the talking in their conversations, but if they linger at the school gates in the mornings or in front of Linhardt’s house, that’s for them to know and not to speak of out loud.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**Linhardt:** [sent 2020042202.png]

**Byleth:** ?

**Byleth:** What is that

**Linhardt:** bEANS

**Byleth:** Is that why you’re up at 2am?

**Linhardt:** like you have a good reason to be up this late

**Byleth:** I’m doing homework

**Linhardt:** at 2am?

**Byleth:** I don’t like the fact that I’m being judged by you. Go to sleep

**Linhardt:** im going to say yes just so you can pat yourself on the back for doing a good job of convincing me

**Linhardt:** but know that i am still fully awake and watching vine compilations

**Byleth:** ...doesn’t that defeat the purpose of saying yes?

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Linhardt drags him to a coffee shopーsomething about wanting tea, and who is Byleth to turn him down? But now he’s standing in front of Linhardt’s house and Linhardt is inviting him in, and there’s no reasoning about it, no classes to study for, no excuses to hide under, just friends choosing to hang out for the afternoon.

Byleth would like more afternoons like this with Linhardt.

What greets them as Linhardt opens the door is a great white dog bouncing forward to launch into Linhardt’s arms.

Linhardt shoves his drink into Byleth’s hands and mumbles to hold it as he sinks into the samoyed’s fur. The samoyed only stays seated, tail wagging quickly. She has the kindest eyes a being is capable of having. Byleth has seen hamsters with crueler eyes.

“Her name is Pillow,” Linhardt tells Byleth through a mouthful of fur. Byleth offers a hand. Pillow nudges forward and sniffs him but otherwise leaves him be. “Because she’s as soft as one.”

“I took you as more of a cat person,” Byleth admits, running a hand through downy fur.

“We do have a siamese cat named Lily, but she’s a bastard.”

“Linhardt?” a voice calls from ahead, and the two freeze. Neither were expecting Linhardt’s parents to be home. “Is that you?”

Linhardt sighs and pulls himself up, taking his drink from Byleth. “Yes,” he says, and leads them out to where the hall opens up to the living room.

Linhardt’s mother glances up, eyes widening as she catches sight of their linked hands. “Whatーwho’sーwhat’s that you have there?”

“Tea,” Linhardt says blithely, and drags Byleth upstairs before he has to be introduced.

Pillow barrels into their feet as Linhardt closes the door to his room.

“Do your parents...not approve of...?” Byleth isn’t sure what to call this, them. They aren’t dating, not really, but to everyone else it looks like they are.

Linhardt takes a seat on the floor and leans back on his bed. Pillow clambers over him and sits on his lap, tail wagging as Linhardt pets her.

“My parents used to be much more controlling. My father, especially. But when my mother sided with me when I told him what I wanted to be when I grew up...both of them backed off.” Linhardt trails a hand through fur, expression focused on seeming careless, eyes lowered. “Now I just do whatever I want and they mind themselves. I understand it’s not the best relationship to have with your parents, but it’s relatively steady.” _For the most part,_ is left unsaid between them.

Byleth takes a seat beside him. He’s not sure what he’s doing, but he pushes himself forward anyway, and leans in to brush back Linhardt’s hair from his eyes and squeeze his hand softly. He understands, maybe, that small fear of being unloved, of being unable to achieve expectations. He still remembers the day he came out to his father as bisexual, because he had been trembling so hard he hadn’t been able to practice properly earlier that day. When he told Jeralt, his father had only smiled and pulled him in for a hug, perhaps knowing of Byleth’s dilemma before Byleth himself knew of it.

Byleth doesn’t say any of this out loud, but Linhardt squeezes his hand back, a quiet reciprocation and an understanding reached in shared gazes. Linhardt turns away, seeming to compose himself into something mirroring his regular self as he says, “Do you want to watch anything?”

They end up watching a nature documentary on Linhardt’s laptop, even if Linhardt falls asleep midway through, head dropping to rest on Byleth’s shoulder. Pillow wags her tail and glances up at him. Byleth gives in, running a hand through fur again.

...Still, he’s not sure how he’s going to get home without avoiding Linhardt’s mother. Should he sneak out through the window?

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**Linhardt:** [sent 2020051005.png]

**Byleth:** Isn’t that the school pool?

**Linhardt:** maybe so

**Byleth:** How did you get in at night? Did you break in?

**Linhardt:** what, like its hard?

**Linhardt:** can you bring snacks

**Byleth:** It’s going to take me twenty minutes to bike there

**Linhardt:** you didnt answer the question

**Byleth:** ...give me thirty minutes.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Linhardt’s pants are rolled up to his knees, a leg dangling in the water. Moonlight slants through the clear ceiling windows. Byleth silently hands over the snacks he’s brought. Linhardt breaks a bag open with a murmur of thanks as Byleth settles beside him.

The only sounds for a moment are the crunch of chips and water making small waves in the pool.

“Ashe swiped the key and made a spare a long time ago. I come by every once in a while when I’m bored.”

“Can’t you do this in the morning, without breaking in?”

Linhardt grins slyly. “Where’s the fun in that? No, better to visit at night. Plus, there’s no one else around.”

“Why the swimming pool?”

Linhardt swings his leg, breaking the rhythm of the smaller waves to splash water on stone tiles. In that small movement, Byleth finds in Linhardt the reluctance to divulge, something hidden just below the surface. He remembers a fact he read a long time ago - that the moon is constantly showing only one side of its face, back forever hidden from the earth’s viewpoint.

Linhardt breaks through the surface, resurfaces to say, “It’s the closest I can get to the ocean.” He lies back with a sigh, shadow and light stretching across him to form planes and valleys, dips and cracks of moonshine. “When I grow up, I want to become a marine biologist. Study ocean life, and all things below ground.”

Byleth nods in a silent _tell me more_ manner, finding a way to rest on the cold floor, knowing they may be there for a while yet.

So Linhardt tells Byleth more; the creatures that lived in prehistoric ages, how much of the ocean floor has been unexplored, just how intelligent an octopus is or the size of the largest whale compared to a regular city building. He goes on about the desire to know more, to learn the depths of the world they live in and then beyond that, because Linhardt isn’t easily satisfied until his questions have been answered thoroughly.

He is so much more than the boy who slept through class.

The silence that falls between the two when Linhardt pauses to take breath is something shared, understood through all layers and complexities to something simple, enjoyable.

“We should go,” Linhardt says. Byleth opens his eyes to him checking his phone, 1:18am greeting them from the screen.

“I can bike you home,” Byleth offers, and Linhardt nods.

The sky is no longer inky black but verging on a splash of twilight. Street lamps and empty roads guide their way as Byleth bikes down a path he’s long memorized, Linhardt seated behind him, dozing lightly despite the bumps and cracks in pavement. Linhardt could probably sleep through a natural disaster and wake up feeling refreshed; the pavement doesn’t stand a chance.

A slither of fog escapes as Byleth says in a low voice, “We’re here.” Behind him, Linhardt groans tiredly. Byleth helps by nudging him awake until Linhardt sits up and yawns, bringing himself to stumble off Byleth’s bike, Byleth’s hand on his elbow to help him balance.

Linhardt seems to wake blink by blink. Byleth waits as he seems to stare, focusing on his face, until he says, “Thank you for tonight.” In this lighting, Byleth can barely catch his expression, but he looks grateful, something soft tinged in his features. “I didn’t think you would actually come when I asked you to.”

Byleth shrugs away the warmth that blooms onto his face. “It’s nothing,” he says, then adds, after a pause containing too much thought and reluctance, “We could go, sometime. To the beach?”

Linhardt looks back at him, definitely awake as he tilts his head, curious and teasing. “Oh?”

“We could take the train during the summer break. It won’t be the same as whatever you want, but...” Byleth shrugs and lets the silence carry the rest of his sentence along. Linhardt only stares back in what Byleth thinks might beーdisbelief?

It’s gone before he can put a name to it, Linhardt’s face smoothing over to something familiar. “I’ll think about it. Thank you, Byleth.”

Byleth murmurs something that sounds roughly like an agreement and a goodbye and ducks his head, feeling like he’s messed up even as Linhardt waves a small goodbye and shuts the door behind him.

All the way home, his breath coming in rapid inhale-exhales, he thinks about how ideas can bloom to life behind the eyelids; it’s easy to imagine bringing Linhardt to the beach, only because Byleth wants to be there with him. He wants to take him there.

But come summer break, will they even be together still? Or, not-together?

The stars do not offer an answer for the empty warmth behind his back that aches like a loss. Byleth stares up at them in a daze, before he finally collects himself, and lets himself into the house.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**Byleth:** You brought money today, right

**Linhardt:** i usually do, yes

**Linhardt:** why do you ask

  
  
  


**Linhardt:** byleth why did you ask

  
  
  


**Linhardt:** im gonna assume i dont have to worry since youre not saying anything

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Alright, I’ll bite: what’s this about?” Linhardt waves the ripped paper Byleth had shoved into his bag earlier after lunch before they parted for the rest of the day, a message to meet him at the bike stands after school.

Byleth swings his bag over his shoulder and gestures behind him. “You’re skipping club activities today.”

“Is this why you didn’t bring your violin today? Where are we going?” Linhardt hops onto the space behind him on the bike; Byleth takes off, speeding through streets, stirring leaves into flight, branches to motion. “Are you going to tell me, or is this a surprise?” He pokes Byleth’s cheek.

Waiting at a red light, Byleth flexes his hands and says, “Our train leaves in five minutes.”

“Where are we going? Not theー”

“Not the beach,” Byleth finishes. “It’s a few hours too far.”

The light turns green, and Byleth begins pedalling again, picking up speed. Linhardt presses his hands into his shoulders, a silent motivator. Excitement has Byleth’s heart pounding in his ears, or maybe that’s from pedalling so hard.

Byleth hastily locks up his bike at the stand when they arrive in front of the train station. Hands meet in a flurry as Byleth pulls Linhardt forward, through the rush hour of students returning home, a flash of green in his vision. Linhardt just smiles at him through it all.

They make it through to their train. The doors slide closed behind them. Byleth struggles to catch his breath. Linhardt collapses on a seat, tugging Byleth after him.

“So,” Linhardt says finally as they enter a dark tunnel, “are you going to tell me, or are you going to leave me guessing?”

“Guessing,” Byleth says, watching light appear in flashes.

“I’ll just have to wait.” Byleth catches a wisp of his smile in the rapid sliver of light.

They only have to wait through a few stops before Byleth collects himself and stands for their stop. Linhardt follows him out as they ascend the stairs to the busy chaos of a city in the evening. Byleth pulls out his phone, checks his directions, and starts walking.

When they arrive at their destination, Byleth only says, belatedly, “They close at 10.”

“It’s an aquarium.”

“It is.”

Linhardt grins. “Because the beach is too far?”

“For now, yes.”

_For now,_ Linhardt mouths. Byleth shrugs to let him know that the beach is a possibility, somewhere in the future. Now Linhardt is the one pulling him forward, eager to explore.

“They let you touch the stingrays in this one,” Linhardt says as they purchase their tickets. “Did you know that?”

“Maybe,” Byleth says, in a way that definitely means _yes_.

Linhardt dumps more information on him as they make their way through the exhibits, pointing at each specimen, sometimes just silent in the beauty of it. Byleth drinks it all in, but most of all he drinks in the wonder on Linhardt’s face, silhouetted against the blue shadows of the aquariums. Throughout it all, Linhardt stays with his hand in Byleth’s. There is no one to pretend for, no act needed, and this small thing is enough for Byleth to smile, wobbly at the edges when Linhardt looks his way.

The train ride home consists of Linhardt struggling to keep his head up, clutching a stingray plushie that to Byleth looks more pancake than fish. Even with the ride being as short as it is, Linhardt leans his head on Byleth’s shoulder to rest. Byleth wants to stretch the moment out as it is, but three stops later they’re at their stop and he regrettably has to shake Linhardt awake.

The bike ride home is slower than their pace earlier that afternoon, but Byleth pulls through until they’re in front of Linhardt’s house.

Linhardt yawns, stretches, and hops off the bike. “Thank you for today.”

Byleth hums and looks away from Linhardt’s smile. For all the staring he has done today, meeting the full force of it takes something out of him, makes him feel too much of something that leaves him warm all over.

Through the sudden heaviness of his tongue, Byleth says, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” and turns around on his bike, not chancing a look over his shoulder.

When he arrives home, Sothis only huffs at the sight of his dishevelled state. “I can’t imagine you up to anything good with that look on your face.”

“What look?”

Sothis’ frown deepens; she rolls her eyes as Byleth struggles to control his face from its odd smile. “Nevermind that,” she mutters, and returns to her work.

Byleth still catches the small smile she tries to hide with a look of concentration.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The notes don’t flow well; they sound offbeat and wooden, downtrodden. Byleth checks the sheet music again and marks a few extra points with his pencil before picking up his bow once more to play.

The piece isn’t one Byleth practices often, only because it’s so difficult Byleth feels woefully unprepared every time he practices it; not only is it technically difficult with its superhuman demands of the dreaded left hand pizzicato paired with tricky arpeggios, but he needs to be able to understand the piece so he can make the sound his, to interject with his own take, fill the piece with his own sound.

Do all musicians have difficulty expressing themselves in a piece, or is it just him? Edelgard has a distinct sound, Byleth thinks. Headstrong but articulate. He’s not sure if his playing will ever sound as passionate as hers.

(And isn’t that odd, how her name doesn’t cause his heart to burst into flames. All he feels is the need to rise to a challenge. That will be something to analyze for another day.)

But there is no harm in trying, so Byleth banishes his thoughts once more to focus. He loses himself in the technicals, tries to make the notes flow instead of forcing them out. By the end of it his hand is cramping. He forms it to clench it into a fist and relaxes once more.

The sound of polite clapping has him turning. Linhardt is sitting on one of the desks pushed to the side of the room.

“Is it supposed to sound like two violins playing at times?”

“At times,” Byleth says. Linhardt only nods in thought as Byleth busies himself with putting his sheet music away. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“You were busy practicing, so I doubt you heard me.” He had not. “I didn’t want to distract you.”

Byleth hums his slight displeasure. It would have been better if Linhardt had announced himself. Even if having other students eavesdropping on his practice is something Byleth has learned to tolerate, there’s a reason he chooses the classroom at the far end of halls, away from occupied classrooms; the horrifying feeling of being known and perceived persists throughout the daily, and it worsens at the thought that Linhardt had heard every mistake he played, every note missed and out of tune. No one likes Byleth with all his mistakes and missed chances, least of all himself.

And he knows mistakes are part of the growth, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t prefer if no one heard this side of him at all.

Seeing the look on his face, Linhardt adds, “I thought it was wonderful.”

Byleth softens at the compliment a bit, though it feels a little like a consolation prize. This is his audience of one, and his stage is an empty classroom in a late afternoon where the sun peeks through the corner of the window.

Linhardt reaches forward to pull him backward into an embrace. Byleth simply stares at his sheet music. Linhardt’s arms wrap around his middle as he pulls him further to rest his head on Byleth’s shoulder, drooping himself over Byleth like usual. But it is different; like that time in the aquarium, there is no one here to keep this farce up for, theatrics for no one to witness this but themselves. It’s been like that for some time, if Byleth thinks about it; they spend plenty of time alone willingly. He doesn’t know what this is anymore, this thing between them that he can’t name, doesn’t want to put a name to.

Linhardt’s breath ghosts over the back of Byleth’s neck, lips inches away. Byleth feels the space of it. He shivers, pulls out of Linhardt’s grasp reluctantly to put his violin and bow back in its case. Linhardt lets him, only watches with a lackadaisical gaze, eyes narrowed, trapped in a thought Byleth doesn't know of.

“Would you play the piece again for me if I asked?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. Byleth’s beginning to think he would do so much more if it was Linhardt who asked. “But...let me get better first.”

“I can wait.” Linhardt smiles as Byleth offers a hand, pulls him off the desk to stand before him.

This, Byleth realizes, feeling the smoothness of Linhardt’s palm in his, Linhardt’s fingers curled snug over his hand, might be more trouble than he first thought.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


It is late at night. Sleep eludes him out of the corner of his vision, there and gone, teasingly there but nowhere to be found.

Byleth’s mind is whirling, all focused on the subject in the eye of the storm: Linhardt.

He tries to think of all of Linhardt’s flaws (he’s self-centered and has a big forehead, according to Sothis who questioned his taste) but now they just come off as endearing (so when he pays attention you know he cares and _but his forehead is perfect to place a kiss on_ but he isn’t about to tell Sothis that) and decides that maybe Linhardt is either perfection personified or Byleth has been blinded somewhere along the way. Because love has a way of leaving people blindsided, doesn’t it?

Oh no. Is he in love with Linhardt?

Oh, no.

Ohー

“Shit,” Byleth exhales, a confession in a curse. He is lucky there is no one awake to hear him.

This must be how the tide feels when it’s being pulled toward the moon; Byleth could not imagine any other way to live without the moon, the same way he has difficulty now imagining his life without Linhardt.

Falling in love with Linhardt is not the third mistake. Linhardt is not a mistake.

Byleth just wishes their relationship was built on something real.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_I said the piece you were playing was wonderful, but I meant you. You are quite wonderful, Byleth._

~~_Like the sun on a cold day, you bring warmth to my lifeー_ ~~

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“I thought you said you didn’t have a romantic bone in your body?”

“Would you rather have this or me talking about fish again?”

“...Anything is fine, as long as you’re the one who wrote it.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Does anyone have a pencil? Or a pen?” Caspar rummages through his backpack and comes up empty.

“Sure,” Byleth says, and with a straight face, pulls out a large pencil the length of his arm, thick enough to wrap a hand around.

Caspar stares at the pencil in horror and dismay. Ashe snorts out a laugh.

“Do youーnormally bring that around with you?” Linhardt says, puzzled, as Caspar takes the pencil anyways to try and complete his English homework before the lunch break is over.

“It was a gag gift from Sothis.”

“Huh,” Caspar says begrudgingly. “I’ll have to thank her for this later.”

“I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

Linhardt smothers his laugh behind a hand, but Byleth catches it nonetheless. Linhardt’s eyes crinkle when he notices Byleth staring. He drops his hand to smile at him, tinged with a teasing note.

“Like what you see?”

Byleth remembers to breathe, hums out a maybe and finally rips his gaze from Linhardt. Ashe stares between them with a questioning gaze, something knowing at the ends of it, but doesn’t fret for long before Caspar’s whining pulls the group’s attention to him once more.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


A loud _ding_ attracts Sothis’ attention. She peers over at Byleth’s phone and frowns at the image she sees.

“That meme is outdated.”

“Time isn’t real.” Byleth sends Linhardt a response, a sticker of a cartoon cat sticking a paw in the air in victory. Sothis watches this, head perched on fist, brow raised.

“You know, if I didn’t know about all this, I would have assumed you were actually dating Linahrdt.”

This reminder is not what Byleth needs. He tenses up, energy running through him with nowhere to go.

“This has been going on for, what, three months?”

“Four,” Byleth corrects. He doesn’t add in that it’s been approximately four months, two weeks, one day since this has started - who would keep count? Only someone feeling sentimental, and this is not something that he should be sentimental about.

Sothis waves her hand. “Who’s keeping track?” she says in false airiness, exactly his thoughts, and pauses. “Unlessーyou care enough about him to know how much time you’ve spent with him?”

They know each other too well. Byleth doesn’t have many obvious tells when he’s irritated, but Sothis sees through his blank facade all the same.

He gathers his homework into his arms and stays studying upstairs for the rest of the night.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Despite the heat, Linhardt sticks to him like he can’t stand their parting. In all honesty, Byleth feels the same.

(But in all honesty, he also can’t say anything about that.)

Byleth bikes through humid air, Linhardt’s hand on his shoulder, the other pressing a cold can to the back of Byleth’s neck.

“There ought to be a heat warning or something,” Linhardt says, though it comes out more as a lukewarm sigh.

As it is, Byleth can only hum a short, small response that borders a grumble. Linhardt presses the can to Byleth’s cheek, the tingly cold of it doing a poor job of cooling him off.

They stop under the shade of an awning for a moment even though Linhardt’s home isn’t much further. Linhardt staggers off the bike, violin case still swung over his shoulders, and buys two more cans of cold coffee from the vending machine. He secures one of the back of his head by the collar of his uniform. For a moment, he sticks a can on to Byleth’s forehead, watching him lean into the new cold and sigh in relief, before moving away to sit behind him on the bike once more, the two cans pressed on either side of Byleth’s neck.

“Did you hear?” Linhardt says when Byleth stops at a red light, leg dropping to rest on the sidewalk.

“Hmm?”

“About Edelgard and Bernadetta?”

“Did something happen?”

The pedestrian sign lights up, and Byleth takes off once more, light sunset-orange beside them, flashing between buildings and outlining shadows.

Linhardt’s lips brush his ear. “They finally got together.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t sound happy for them.”

“I am happy for them.” But with Edelgard and Bernadetta together comes the conclusion of Byleth’s own together, not-together, _thing_ , right? None of the recipients of Byleth’s letters have approached him. Bernadetta has a girlfriend, as Linhardt stated at the start was his reason for agreeing to this in the first place.

Linhardt steps off his bike and returns his violin. Byleth stares up at the house so he doesn’t have to look at him for what might be the last time. But at the sound of his name falling from Linhardt’s lips, he chances a look anyways.

A touch is all it takes to freeze him in place. Linhardt’s hand is warm. He trails a finger across Byleth’s jawline to rest it at his chin. It’s funny, how easy he crumbles. How much he gives.

Linhardt dares to lean forward into the heat, a challenge in his eyes. “Do you know what you want to do next?”

Byleth doesn’t follow his train of thought, but he wants to say yes. He wants to lean into him and find an answer on his lips scorched by the incoming summer. And for a millisecond, he gives; he gulps and looks down at Linhardt’s lips.

Linhardt catches this and smiles, seems to eat up this small action. Byleth is a deer caught in the headlights of an incoming car. But Linhardt surprises Byleth, not for tilting away, swerving, but by shoving a cold can onto Byleth’s forehead and letting go. Byleth fumbles to catch it before it drops rolling to the ground, and Linhardt laughs at his expense and turns away.

He doesn’t say goodbye.

Maybe they don’t need to?

Byleth doesn’t know what’s going on in Linhardt’s head. He knows Linhardt as well as he knows himself - intricately well but also, not at all.

When he opens up his violin case at home, though, he thinks he finds an answer in the balled up, ripped paper placed near his bow.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Come and find me when you’ve made your decision._

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Sooo,” Sothis says in passing, drawing out the word in a way she never would unless she was worried. It’s so uncharacteristically not her that it gets Byleth’s attention immediately. “How are you and Linhardt?”

Their father looks up from the kitchen counter at the name. “That’s the boy you’re dating, isn’t it? Do you know when he’ll be coming over for dinner?”

Byleth spins his pencil in his hand and imagines Linhardt’s fingers slotting in between the gaps to their natural home, the warmth of it.

“I don’t know,” he replies honestly to both of them, because he hasn’t talked to Linhardt in two days. He hadn’t come out of his house the morning following that afternoon when Byleth had texted him, and he hadn’t seen him with his friends - now Byleth’s friends by this point - at lunch. It felt strange to go home with Sothis again, instead of the schedule that had become Byleth’s usual.

Sothis’ face scrunches up. “You did something stupid, didn’t you?”

“Why do you always assume it’s something I did?”

“Remind me how we got into this mess in the first place?”

“ _You_ sent my letters when I didn’t want them to be sent.”

“They wouldn’t have been sent if you hadn’t written them in the first place. You got yourself into this mess.”

Byleth turns withering eyes to their father. Jeralt stares back apathetically. If there is one thing they both know, it is that Sothis never loses an argument. Not because she’s always right, but because she’s too stubborn.

Byleth continues on like that part of the conversation never occurred. “I didn’t do anything.” He doesn’t think staring at Linhardt’s lips for a millisecond - fine, maybe five seconds too long - has anything to do with this reaction, but it’s the only thing that really stands out from that afternoon.

“Then what happened?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. He just told me that Edelgard and Bernadetta got together.”

Sothis hums and rubs her chin, looking almost like Jeralt at that moment. Byleth catches their father’s eyes from across the room and Jeralt turns away with a fond shake of his head to continue cooking and leave the two alone in their conversation.

Reluctantly, Byleth pulls out the last note Linhardt had given him and shows Sothis. “I think he wants me to decide on something.”

Sothis realizes it before he does. “He wants to know if you like him and actually want to date him.”

“...What.”

“You’ve kept him waiting two days!” She quiets her voice to a hiss when Jeralt turns in their direction. “You pathetically useless sack of a human being, I am going to drop kick you into the stratosphere if you don’t figure it out.”

Byleth chooses not to comment on the fact that she probably can’t kick him that far. “Figure what out?”

Sothis looks like she’s seconds away from reaching out to strangle her brother. She reins in her anger at the last second and exhales instead of lashing out. “I just said, you should confess to Linhardt.”

“You didn’t say that.”

“Not in those exact words, but you get what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

“He’s waiting for a clear answer,” Sothis insists, and when Byleth fails to reply, she adds, “Remember: W. W. T. S. S.”

“What?”

“What Would Taylor Swift Say.”

“...Carpe diem, or something?” Sothis only squints at him, so Byleth tacks on, “I think Taylor Swift gives bad advice,” remembering that talk with Flayn about the five second rule months back.

“We’ll see about that,” Sothis mutters.

Their father calls them over for dinner, and the conversation is quickly dropped. Byleth mulls over Sothis’ words as they eat, Linhardt’s voice a murmur in his ear - _“What do you want to do next?”_

Maybe Byleth should stop asking what Linhardt wants and find out what he wants from Linhardt instead.

After dinner, over the plates they’re cleaning, Sothis says, “Why don’t you try making him lunch?”

Byleth blinks back. “You know I’m no good in the kitchen.”

She bristles, “It was a suggestion,” and returns with a huff to towelling the plates dry. Still, Byleth knows she means well, and doesn’t fault her for this. Byleth washes the plates clean and thinks about what he can do, and what he wants. He wants to keep playing the violin. Finish that nature documentary series he started with Linhardt, and visit the beach in the summer. To hold his hand again.

And maybe he can’t make Linhardt lunch, but there is something Byleth has experience in stumbling and struggling over, and that is something to do.

That night, he hovers over an empty sheet, pen poised, mind wandering, heart stalling. Feelings are never expressed at their best unless at 100%, after all, whether it be by the quietest of confessions or a shout of declaration for all the world to hear, emotions will never be easy to bear.

And it won’t get any easier.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Byleth finds Linhardt in the library at lunch. He’s sitting back against a bookshelf, engrossed in a book, and he doesn’t look at Byleth until he’s sitting across from him.

“Oh. You’re here.” He looks pleased in the shadows of the bookshelves, slivers of light slanting across his face. “Did you need something?”

Byleth slides an envelope his way and states the obvious: “I wrote you a letter.”

“Okay.”

When Linhardt makes no move to open the envelope, Byleth says, “You have to read it.”

Linhardt’s smile is slight, mysterious in how much of it Byleth sees. “Oh? I don’t get a choice this time?”

“Letters are written to be read, remember?”

Linhardt just shakes his head, his words redirected and thrown back at him. He opens up the letter, the sound crisp and painfully obvious in the silence of the library. It hurts, but Byleth forces himself to watch Linhardt’s expression, the furrowed brows and slow realization as he reads through Byleth’s feelings.

“Thisーare you telling the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Really?” Linhardt looks up at him like he can’t possibly believe him. It occurs to Byleth that maybe no one has told Linhardt how much he is loved, but to Byleth that feels so far out of any realm of possibility he refuses to believe it.

“I wouldn’t lie,” Byleth says roughly at this thought. He forces himself into some form of calm - now is not the right time or place for this. “I’ve never lied about my feelings, Linhardt.”

“Oh.” Linhardt only looks at a loss for words, blinking like the world’s begun spinning backwards, gravity reversed.

“Linhardt.”

“Yes?”

“I love you,” Byleth says carefully, watching the words take hold, buoy Linhardt up until he blinks and smiles a full grin, relaxed. Linhardt laughs lightly, relieving a burden of not-together togethers and one scorched afternoon, and Byleth basks in the sound of it.

“I thought you didn’t feel the same.”

“The same?”

Linhardt lifts a brow with a smile and tilts his head. “Don’t tell meーeverything flew right over your head?”

If he’s implying what Byleth thinks he’s implying, which he really hopes he is... “I think so.”

“You’reー...stupid,” Linhardt breaks off with a sigh, but Byleth thinks he might mean another word entirely with the way he says it.

Linhardt tugs him forward by the collar. Byleth travels the centimetres between them to meet him on the other side for their first kiss, their first _real_ kiss, because the first one had been a mistake on Byleth’s part. Byleth sinks into it; Linhardt’s breath mingles with his own, lips meeting in a quiet confession of their own. Linhardt’s hair is as soft as Byleth had imagined it to be.

"Much better than the first time, don't you think?" Linhardt murmurs when they part. Byleth hums in agreement against his lips and presses as close as he can.

Someone gasps behind them; a book drops to the floor with a dull thud.

“Sorry! I’ll justーI’ll justーdieーgo. Go,” a boy splutters out. Byleth turns to see Ignatz making a hasty retreat, book forgotten on the ground.

Linhardt sighs, arms still wrapped around Byleth’s neck to pull him closer. “I’ll have to return that to him in class later.”

“Later,” Byleth agrees, and kisses Linhardt until he forgets where they are in the first place.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_The beach would be a nice place to go during the summer break, don’t you think? So tell me, which train would we have to take to get there?_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Byleth pulls Linhardt off warm sand into cold water, lapping up to his knees as he stumbles forward.

“This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to go to the beach.”

“Were you planning to sit and stare at the water?”

Linhardt doesn’t reply, which means Byleth is right. Byleth flicks him lightly on the nose. The two stay there, silent pillars as the world goes on beyond them; here is the place where ocean meets sky along the horizon.

Linhardt points at a cliff a short climb away. “We can nap there.”

Byleth nods. He didn’t expect anything otherwise from him.

They collect their shoes at the shore. Linhardt trails behind Byleth as he walks up to the cliff, collecting seashells. They lay out a blanket on the grass. Linhardt collapses back on it, hand hiding his face from the sun, sunlight breaking through gaps between fingers. Byleth sits back beside him after organizing the seashells to surround them, relaxed and drinking in the sight, the wind. He will take this feeling, this freedom, wherever he goes, and maybe Linhardt will be there with him every step of the way. The fates were always fickle beings.

But Byleth knows what he wants, and this is it.

When he takes Linhardt’s hand, Linhardt doesn’t pull away, only pulls at him to lie beside him.

“You weren’t my first love,” Byleth tells him. Linhardt peeks through his hand to smile at this truth. No, Linhardt wasn’t even his second, or third love. But Byleth’s the only one keeping count, and one day he’ll lose count of all the days spent with Linhardt, because it’ll be too many days to keep hold of.

“I know,” Linhardt says.

At this, Byleth leans forward to press a kiss on Linhardt’s forehead. “But you can be my last.”

Linhardt only smiles at this possibility. They are too young to already be thinking of lasts when they have barely experienced their firsts. They both know this.

So Byleth tightens his grip in Linhardt’s own, and seeks to make more firsts before the last.

**Author's Note:**

> \- The [most adorable flapjack octopus](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=pxuBwfNp2wk) to be captured on camera  
> \- [Tina S being a legend on guitar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6rBK0BqL2w) as always  
> \- The piece Byleth was attempting to play was [The Last Rose of Summer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uA0ugX-v5NU)


End file.
